


Icarus

by sweetshootingstars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, I love Pedro, brazil!hinata, i also have a never ending craving for pao de queijo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetshootingstars/pseuds/sweetshootingstars
Summary: Oh what a joy it was, to be loved by the sun.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Reader, Hinata Shouyou/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Icarus

With Shoyo, life is lived with the saturation dial turned on max. Every night is turned into an evening in mid-June, with laughter and drinks and dancing- so much dancing- that your head spins. He is tanned skin and ochre hair and rigid thighs and deceptively soft hands. He smells of fresh laundry and runs warm. He is a sunny place, a midsummer night’s dream, and yours to keep. 

His smile is blinding when he pulls you away from the boiling pot of water on the stove and twirls you around your small kitchen. _“Pasta takes 12 minutes to cook,”_ is what he says. _“Enough time for you to dance with me!”_ Your socked feet slide across the worn-down linoleum of the kitchen as giggles erupt from your chest. 

There is never a dull moment with Hinata Shoyo. He lives as much as he loves, he imbues anything he touches with sunshine. Golden arms hold you tight as you sway together, your accompaniment being the bubbling of your now forgotten pasta. 

You think back to your first date in Rio- a meager picnic at sunset, sharing a basket of food court _pão de queijo_ as you listen to Shoyo’s voice mixed in with the background noise of rapid-fire Portuguese and soft waves. You point out how his voice lilts a little higher when he speaks his native language, and the rosiness on his cheeks doesn’t escape your curious eyes. 

The next date, he’s bolder. He takes you to a _churrascaria_ for dinner, where you’re both stuffed so full that you wonder if sleeping in a restaurant would be considered passable, just this one night. Just as you feel drowsiness pulling your eyelids closed, he takes your arm, and you are caught under Shoyo’s wings as he flies you to a bar. Samba music plays loudly from the speakers, the air is filled with mirth and electricity, and you find yourself dancing the night away. You expect the club patrons to laugh at both of your sorry excuses at dancing, but they join you instead, egging Shoyo on. _“Spin your girl!”_ They say, clinking their beers together. 

You laugh, hand tightly in his, his smile immeasurably wide. He pulls you close, your hands on his chest, and leans in to whisper in your ear. Despite the hoots and hollers of the club and the bass permeating your bones, you sway in time with him, hand over his heart, hearing him loud and clear. 

_“Você é linda.”_

You think it’s okay to kiss him after that. 

Even now, more than a year later, you still feel drunk in love. The pasta has long since cooled down and you’ll yell at him later for wasting food, but you think that just for tonight, you could bask in the sun for a little bit longer. 

One day you ask Pedro how he does it. How does it feel to live next to ever-present daylight? _“Pedrinho,”_ you tease. After reminding you for the umpteenth time that he doesn’t play football, he tells you familiar stories of being swept away in the wind beneath Shoyo’s steps, and how his desire to better himself brings everything in the apartment to life. 

_“Things have gotten better with him here. I’m happy.”_

_“You sound more like his girlfriend than I do.”_

_“You know he has plans to go back to Japan, right?”_

You still. For a split second, the sun sets within your insides. 

_“[Y/N]! Babe?”_

Turning to Pedro, you smile. 

_“I know. I’ll enjoy the sun while I still can.”_

And enjoy it you do. You know that the man you call your boyfriend is a free bird, with wings made of wax. He will fly as close to the sun as he possibly can, will risk feeling the licks of flames on his skin, all to become better. But you also know that with those man-made wings of his, he will find a way to fly back to you. In the same way, the sun sets and rises every day. 

You see it in the way his eyes focus on you first thing in the morning, you see it in the way he held you at Heitor and Nice’s wedding, you see it in the way he takes a deep breath into your hair at the airport as if he wanted to fill his body with as much of you as could. You feel it in the way he kisses you, both hands on your face, his lashes tickling your skin. 

_“Eu te amo,”_ he whispers. You know he means it. 

_“I’ll be here.”_

Shoyo is a fever dream of light and warm winds, he is a shooting star, he is the sun. 

Three years later, it is an afternoon, and he sleeps beside you, light filtering through your blinds, an old Asas São Paulo jersey draped over your frame. You rest your head on his chest, and his hand slips under the jersey to dance his fingers along the skin of your waist. A force of habit on his end, and you feel absolutely sun-kissed. 

You both have a whole lifetime to dance amongst the waves and sand, and for him to fly you through the sky, hand in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> @sweetshootingstars on tumblr. Thank you for reading :)


End file.
